


Robby, Love.

by MadelaineHeartEyes



Series: Phone Rings, Door Chimes [1]
Category: Company - Sondheim/Furth
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gen, Get it?, bobby is also a disaster, emphasis on the spirits because they drink a lot, i always imagine the 2006 broadway revival cast when i'm writing, i took liberties with joanne's second husband, joanne is a mess who's sometimes soft, they're kindred disaster spirits
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-01-01 01:43:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18326144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadelaineHeartEyes/pseuds/MadelaineHeartEyes
Summary: Snapshots of Bobby and Joanne's relationship.(Ratings/tags will be updated as I post more.)





	1. Christmas Eve

Joanne hated Christmas.

As a child, her family had always used it for show, to demonstrate to the world what a perfect life they had, what a content and stable nuclear family unit they were. Never mind that every other day of the year doors slammed, voices raised and palms slapped - Christmas was their day of perfection. And she hated it. She hated the lavish and glittering gifts that didn’t take away the sting on her cheek or the bruises on her wrists (although the diamonds _were_ pretty). She hated the tacky tree that her mother insisted was ‘part of the tradition’ with a smile that showed too much teeth to be benevolent. 

As an adult, she would rather ignore the whole thing and carry on as usual.

But of course, Marcus had wonderful childhood memories of Christmas, and insisted on hanging a wreath on the door, putting up a tree by the (fake) fireplace, even draping the windows with goddamn _tinsel_. She didn’t even try to explain why she hated it all so much - so it was another tally against her, bitter old Jo, miserable Jo, hating the happiness and the festivities and trying to ruin his fun.

And to top it all off, he really seemed to be impersonating her father - as though buying her the most expensive earrings he could find would make up for the coldness, the absences (and later, she found out, the cheating). But it was never worth the fight - she accepted with the largest smile she could muster (never large enough for him, but that was a given), and placed them at the bottom of her jewellery box.

He didn’t notice - or perhaps just didn’t care - that she never wore them

***

Christmas Eve was perhaps her least favourite time of the Christmas period - even the whole year, excluding Valentine’s Day maybe. Marcus always insisted on throwing a party. A large one, where all of their most obscure acquaintances would drink their alcohol and make a mess in their house, which was never cleaned properly until the maid returned the day after boxing day. It all seemed too much effort for a severely limited amount of enjoyment - but of course, it happened every year.

***

It was almost midnight by the time the house started clearing out, and by that point Joanne was making an ass out of herself. She knew that, but too much red wine meant her words made little sense and she giggled like a teenager, and most of the guests had been avoiding her for close to an hour. Except Bobby. Bobby, dear Bobby, kept on coming over to her spot on the corner of the sofa, refilling her glass, asking her stupid, meaningless questions as though that would fix the situation. She was grateful nonetheless; that was more, far more than could be said for her husband, who she hadn’t seen for hours. Even with a head as fuzzy as hers, she knew where he was - he’d invited his pretty new scrub nurse who he was making doe eyes to even when Joanne was sober - but she pretended she didn’t.

 Once the living room was empty, she kicked off her shoes and tucked her feet next to her on the sofa, resting her head on the side. She felt dizzy all of a sudden, and and was struck with the hope that she didn’t vomit - she didn’t need Marcus going on about that all day tomorrow, when her hangover was clearly going to be almost unbearable on it’s own.

She closed her eyes for barely a moment, when she heard someone re-enter the room.

“For fuck’s sake Joanne, you’re a mess.”

She looked up to see her husband in front of her, looking more disgusted than she had possibly ever seen him. His hair was messed up, like someone had been running their fingers through it - and God knows, it wasn’t her. Joanne almost said something then, almost bit back, but she doubted she had the faculties to do so in her present state.

“Sleeping on the goddamn sofa, we had guests, and their hostess is smashed off her face.”

She sat up then, pointing a finger at him - or at least in his direction, she hoped.

“At leas’ I was here - not u’there with some lil’…”

She didn’t finish, mainly due to the reappearance of Bobby in the doorway, hesitant to enter the room. She slumped back against the cushions, her head resting back on the arm of the sofa, and closed her eyes as the room started to spin alarmingly.

Vaguely, Joanne heard her husband leave the room with a huff, then stomp up the stairs - into the guest bedroom. No more than she expected, but she still felt an unbidden pang of… something in her chest. She slowly became aware of Bobby’s hand on her shoulder, and opened her eyes. He was more in focus than she feared, and she tried to sit up, swaying as she did so.

“Right, let’s get you upstairs.”

She giggled as she felt Bobby’s strong arms hoist her off the sofa, and wrapped her own around his shoulders. She stumbled as she walked, knocking her elbow on the doorframe and banisters. She managed two stairs before falling on her knees. She heard Bobby sigh before lifting her up, bridal style and she giggled again and tweaked his nose.

“You’re so adorable, you know that?”

He chuckled in response, and next thing she knew, he was laying her down in her bed, tucking the covers up. She expected him to leave then, but he didn’t, and she felt the mattress indent as he sat down, and heard the clink of a glass being placed on the bedside cabinet. She closed her eyes then, praying she didn’t vomit all over him or do something equally foolish.

Suddenly, she felt his fingers tucking back her hair, and she felt something… warm in her chest. Contentment, perhaps.

“Thank you."

It came out barely louder than a whisper, but she meant it, and she heard a mumble in response as she slipped out of consciousness.

***

Joanne woke up Christmas day with a splitting headache and a cold bed. Vaguely, she remembered Bobby dragging her up the stairs and putting her to bed, and smiled slightly. In the back of her mind, a voice tried to tell her she should be embarrassed for getting into such a state, but it was easy to silence.

Christ, someone had to care about her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first time I've written these characters, so I hope I've captured them well enough. I've got a few more chapters that I'm editing at the moment, so they should be up soon :)
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> (I'm also well aware that it's no where near Christmas so please ignore that...)


	2. Bobby, there was something I wanted to say.

 “For Christ’s sake Joanne, let the poor man get a word in.”

Joanne scowled at her husband over her fourth - or maybe fifth - martini, then turned back to Bobby, opening her mouth to continue talking. Her frown deepened.

“I’ve forgotten what I was saying now! This always happens when you interrupt me, Marcus.”

“I’m sure Bobby won’t complain…" 

Marcus muttered the words, but his wife heard them nevertheless, and stiffened. Bobby sat awkwardly, taking a sip of his drink to fill the silence that had settled over the trio.

“Why did you marry someone you find such a bore?”

She said it casually, but Bobby saw it for what it really was - a test. He looked towards Marcus, waiting to see how he would diffuse the situation. Gin always made her ready for a fight, and she had drunk enough for two.

“Not boring, overbearing. And sometimes I wonder.”

Bobby changed the topic, something mundane, but Joanne’s face had hardened and knuckles were turning white on the stem of her glass. Suddenly her husband shot up, muttering about going to the bathroom, and it was as though she hadn’t heard him.

Bobby waited until he was out of sight, before turning to Joanne and placing a tentative hand on her shoulder. She threw it off, but he had expected that.

“Are you alright?”

Her jaw clenched and she couldn’t meet his eyes.

“Perfect.”

He didn’t push the point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was meant to be part of a longer chapter but I decided it worked better on it's own, so have this few hundred words of near-nonsense.


	3. Marriage may be where it was, but it's not where it's at.

It was always Marcus who called, informing Bobby that Joanne wanted to go out and would he like to join them? So when he got home from work to a voicemail from her, he was surprised. “Would you care to join me?” This was a first, it had never been just the two of them before, but the week had been long and he certainly wanted a drink. Joanne was good company, made him laugh until his sides hurt with her bitterness towards everyone and everything.

He rang her back, tapping his finger against the sideboard absent-mindedly. She didn’t pick up for almost a minute.

“Hello?”

“Joanne, it’s Robert. I’d love to join you tonight.”

“That’s wonderful.” Her voice sounded slightly hoarse, strange, and something about her tone was off. “I’m looking forward to it. I’ll see you at ten.”

She sniffed slightly. Then she hung up.

***

The club was as packed as it always was come Friday night, but Joanne had taken residence at the end of the bar where she always was. She always looked so out of place, her diamond jewellery shining in the lighting, the silk of her blouse flowing as she moved. Bobby walked over, pushing through the crowd and tapping her on the shoulder - muttering his apology for being late. She jumped, turning towards him in a flash. Her face softened slightly when she saw him, and she gestured towards the seat next to her vaguely. He couldn’t help but notice the empty glasses already in front of her - it was barely ten past, he hadn’t been held up for that long. However, her gaze was steady as she stared at him. Her eyes were slightly bloodshot, like she’d been crying, and he couldn’t help but feel a pang of worry - cracks in her façade were a rarity. He didn’t ask.

Joanne had a habit of looking right into his eyes, in a way that felt scrutinizing, and Bobby wasn’t sure how to break away.

Finally, she broke the silence, and looked back down into her glass. “So, tell me about your week.”

***

She downed drinks like there was no tomorrow, barely noticing as glass after glass disappeared. Bobby noticed. He noticed, but didn’t say a word, even as she swayed in her seat and dropped her line of thought mid way through garbled sentences. She had always drank. A lot, maybe too much, but this was something else.

It was just past one, when Joanne stopped suddenly, a hand on her chest.

“Christ.”

She scrambled from her seat, hand over her mouth, stumbling to the bathrooms in her ridiculous heels. Bobby watched her for a second before he snapped to attention, sober enough to follow her swiftly, cursing himself as he went - what a friend he had been tonight, letting her drink herself stupid. Watching, watching, never changing the course.

It was a strange sight, seeing Joanne kneeling on the filthy floor in her trousers that probably cost more than the place earned in a night, and Bobby couldn’t help a laugh rising up inside. Nevertheless, he bent down beside her, holding back her dark hair with one hand and placing the other on her back, rubbing slightly. It was a testament to the state she was in that she didn’t throw it off. She kept on heaving for what felt like hours.

When she was finished, she leant against the wall, wiping the sweat from her brow with trembling hands.

“Are you alright?”

Unfortunately for him, she was still alert enough to muster up a withering look.

“Take a guess wild - wait that’s…”

She closed her eyes, and he was shocked to see a tear escape. He clammed up - Joanne was the one person that he could rely upon not to get emotional, not to need the comfort he was awful at providing. It was less about her age, more about, simply, her, and it was one of the reasons he enjoyed her company. He had never once seen her cry - she usually lashed out with anger rather than display any weakness.

“Jo?”

She shook her head, her shaky hands wiping away the stray tears.

“Jo, what’s going on?”

Her nostrils flared, and for a moment he thought she was angry, but when she opened her eyes they were softer - and sadder - than he had ever seen them.

“Marcus is leaving - he’s left.”

Bobby inhaled deeply. He knew, he couldn’t not know, that their relationship was tumultuous, but he never expected either of them to ever do anything about it.

“I’m sorry.”

His apology seemed to wake her up (or maybe the hesitation that was a moment too long), and she staggered to a standing position, still unsteady on her feet.

“What would you know about it? How would you understand?” She paused for a moment, her chest heaving - back to being angry. “I want to go home.”

Bobby looked skywards, then got to his feet too, placing a hand on her arm to hold her steady.

“You’re not walking back like this. I’ll call us a cab.”

He had to practically drag her into the street - she could barely walk, and seemed almost unwilling to try - and couldn’t help a flash of annoyance.

***

He ended up taking the cab with her, then leading her through the front door and upstairs at her house. He deposited her on the bed, then grabbed a glass of water to put on the table beside her.

When he returned, she was out cold. He knew that he shouldn’t leave her, but he did. He was never quite sure where he stood with her. Nevertheless, he hesitated a moment before shutting the front door behind him.

***

He called Joanne on Saturday, and her speech was still slurred, but he put it down to the hangover. She brushed off his concern in her usual cold manner, but he was less than convinced as she could hardly string a sentence together.

“You know we never… matched, Robby. I’m perfectly fine.”

He knew she wasn’t, but didn’t push the point.

***

Bobby tried again on Tuesday, when he got home around four, and this time she was clearly drunk. He asked if she was alright, and she laughed that great cackle of hers, avoiding the question, and something snapped inside him. This woman was his friend, and he couldn’t simply stand by and watch as he usually did, as he always had.

“I’m coming over, Joanne. I’ll be at your place in twenty minutes.”

She tried to protest, but he hung up.

***

Joanne stank of alcohol, so strong that it hit him like a wave when she opened her front door.

“Christ Jo, it’s barely four o’clock.”

She glared at him, shutting the door and crossing her arms defensively. She was wearing nothing but a silk slip and robe, long pale legs covered in bruises - her balance always seemed to disappear after a few drinks. She looked strangely fragile, her dark hair washing out her complexion without the makeup she normally wore. There was also a sheepishness, something Bobby had never before seen on her face, and it softened his frustration. He touched her arm gently, and she leant against the wall, closing her eyes against the tears like she had on Friday night.

“Hey, come here.”

He pulled her towards him, and to his surprise she came willingly, hiding her face in his shirt and attempting to still the shaking of her shoulders. They stayed there for a long moment, then she pulled back, attempting to put the mask of indifference back on.

“I’d offer you a drink, but I don’t think you’d take too kindly to that.”

Bobby looked at her, quirking an eyebrow.

“No, but I’ll grab a coffee. You go and sit down - you need one too.”

She looked as though she was going to retort, but then sighed and turned to enter the living area. He watched her go - Christ, he had no idea what he was doing. Joanne was older than his other friends, he had no experience of dealing with second-time divorce (or first time, for that matter). So he just went into the kitchen and located two mugs - little steps.

***

It only took him a couple of minutes to make the coffee. As he walked back to the front room, he saw that Joanne had curled up in the corner of the sofa. She looked strangely vulnerable - her eyes were staring into space, unseeing, and she didn’t even look up as he entered. He placed the coffee down beside her, before sitting on the sofa.

After a moment, she reached over and picked up the coffee, cradling the mug in her hands and staring into the depths as though it would provide some sort of comfort. She didn’t say anything, and Bobby was hesitant to break the silence, hesitant to do anything at all really.

Then suddenly, Joanne looked at him, and the usual face of indifference was back on. She sat up straighter, took a sip of her coffee, and crossed her legs curtly.

“Do you know any good family court lawyers?”


	4. who brings all the flowers when I have the flu?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joanne has the flu, and Bobby is left to take care of her.

Bobby never got a lie-in, and was relishing his first day off in weeks by simply lying in bed, a luxury he rarely indulged in, when the phone rang. He let out a groan, leaning over to pick it up.

“Hello?”

His voice was thick with sleep and laced with poorly-concealed frustration - he hated talking on the phone at the best of times.

“Robert, it’s Larry.”

Bobby was confused - Larry only ever called to ask him out drinking, and as it was a Tuesday, he doubted that was the case. He sat up in bed, his brow furrowing.

“Hi, Larry. Is everything okay?”

He heard a sigh at the other end of the line.

“My apologies for calling you on your day off, and I wouldn’t unless I absolutely had to…”

He trailed off, and Bobby hummed to encourage him to continue.

“Joanne has the flu - really badly. I don’t want to leave her alone, but I’ve got a conference in Chicago tomorrow that I absolutely cannot miss. I’ve got to leave the house in half an hour, my flight’s later today, and I didn’t know who else to call.”

Bobby sighed despite himself. With friends like his, days off never ended up that way.

“Larry - don’t worry. Catch your flight. I’ll be over as soon as I can.”

He heard a sigh of relief from the other end of the line.

"Thank you _so much_ kiddo... and good luck."

 _Oh_.

***

He stopped to buy flowers on the way there, an elegant white arrangement that he was sure Joanne would appreciate. Apart from her signature red lipstick, he had never seen the woman wear anything that even vaguely resembled colour, and he seemed to remember her home was pretty much the same.

He rang the doorbell multiple times, but felt guilty as soon as Joanne opened the door, looking like death and leaning heavily on the wall, wrapped tightly in a robe. Her voice was scratchy and quiet.

“Robby, what are you doing here?”

He cringed as he watched her struggle to stay upright, eyelids drooping.

“Larry sent me to take care of you. I’m sorry, I didn’t think, ringing the bell… you need to get back to bed.”

She waved a hand dismissively, swaying slightly.

“I was asleep, or I would have answered quicker. I'm a grown woman, you really don’t need to-“

She cut herself off as a coughing fit wracked her body, and he had to hold her steady with the hand that wasn’t taken up by the bouquet. Her skin was radiating heat, even through the fabric, and she was shivering uncontrollably. She looked up at him, cheeks reddening slightly from embarrassment (or maybe the fever) when the coughing subsided, and he smirked.

“What was that you were saying? You’re burning up, go back to bed.” She nodded vaguely, and he indicated the flowers. “I’ll put these in water.”

He regretted this as soon as he watched her attempt to drag herself up the first few stairs, knuckles white as she gripped the handrail. He placed the flowers on a side table, and managed to hook an arm around her waist just as her knees gave out. She attempted to push him off her, but was too weak to do so.

“Joanne, let me help you.”

She acquiesced with a scowl, allowing him to practically carry her up the stairs. She all but collapsed into bed, closing her eyes as her chest rose and fell rapidly. Bobby pulled the covers over her shaking body, noticing the sheen of sweat on her forehead. She looked strangely small in the huge bed, and her skin was almost as pale as the white sheets.

“Go back to sleep, I’ll check on you in a bit. Shout if you need anything.”

He heard her murmur in response, already half-asleep.

***

Bobby sat in the living area, reading the book he had brought, for a while, before moving into the kitchen to make Joanne something to eat. He felt unbelievably awkward - what was the protocol when taking care of a sick friend who clearly did not want to be taken care of?

He fought the urge to laugh when he noticed the cupboards were almost entirely bare. When he thought about it, he couldn’t imagine Joanne cooking at all, and Larry likely didn’t have the time.

Where was their damn housekeeper when you needed her?

Bobby ended up going out to get some chicken soup and bread, which he could hardly believe they didn’t have. He felt uneasy leaving Joanne by herself, but reasoned that she wouldn’t get better if she didn’t eat.

He arranged the flowers on the tray before carefully climbing the stairs. He knocked on the door tentatively.

“Joanne?”

She was lying in the dark with the curtains drawn, but sat up as he swung the door open. He reached over to flick the light on, apologising when she groaned, shielding her eyes.

“I brought you some soup, you must be hungry.”

But as he took a step towards her, she waved a hand in the air to ward him off, the other covering her mouth. Hampered by the tray, he could only watch as she stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom, locking the door behind her.

Bobby stood awkwardly in the doorway of the bedroom, not quite sure what to do. He could hear her retching and cringed, before moving into the hall to get rid of the tray, instead picking up the flowers and water, placing them on the table beside the bed.

Eventually, he heard the toilet flush, and knocked on the bathroom door gently. The lock clicked and the door opened, and Joanne standing behind it looking sheepish.

“I’m sorry about that - please tell me you got rid of the soup.”

“ _Christ_ , don’t apologise - it’s outside, you can’t smell it in here anymore.”

She looked slightly relieved and moved into the bedroom; Bobby moved forwards to help, but Joanne raised her hand again, eyes fierce, and he recoiled.

“It’s just a bit of nausea - _I’m fine_.”

So he could only watch as she slowly made her way back to the bed, clutching at anything that could take her weight. It was only after she had laid down that she groaned under her breath and shifted, making to get up again.

“ _Shit_.”

Bobby couldn’t stop himself this time, and moved over to her.

“What is it?”

She glared at him, trying to stand up but failing.

“Nothing - I forgot my pills. I feel like someone's digging a meat cleaver into my skull.”

He placed a hand on her shoulder, and glared down at her so sternly that to his amusement, she stilled.

“For Christ’s sake Jo, I’m here, let me get them.”

She rolled her eyes, but sat back against the pillows.

“There’s a cupboard behind the mirror above the sink - aspirin, and Valium.”

He followed her instructions (trying not to read the labels of the countless medications in there), but by the time he returned she was already asleep again. He put the bottles on the table and pulled the covers back up, forcing down the concern he felt for her. Worrying was certainly not his style.

***

Bobby offered to stay through the night, but even in her weakened state, Joanne threatened to kill him with her bare hands if he didn’t leave her alone, so he left only after making her swear to phone him if she needed anything - he knew it was an empty promise, but it made him feel slightly less guilty for leaving, even though she did have to brave the stairs to lock the door behind him.

“Robby?”

“Mhm?”

“Thank you for the flowers.” 

She would never thank him for the company, for the care, but that was as close as he was going to get - so he took it.

***

He got the flu four days later. Joanne didn't bring flowers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Joanne is a nightmare and I adore her.


	5. Somebody hurt me too deep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobby tries to help Joanne in a difficult time. She's not having it.

Bobby loved his friends, he really did, and enjoyed spending time with them. But after yet another afternoon of listening to Sarah and Harry bickering over every single topic that came up in conversation, he felt he needed to wipe the hours from his memory. At least this time, they hadn’t felt the need to start sparring on the carpet.

Sarah had, however, mentioned one thing that made his ears prick up.

“Poor Joanne - I wonder how Larry’s doing?”

He looked up, his brow furrowing. Her easy tone belied her lack of actual concern - the two women were not exactly… compatible. Both with personalities slightly too large to handle. Although they moved in the same circles, their conversations quickly soured. Nevertheless, Joanne’s scathing expression whenever the two interacted was worth Sarah’s complaining afterwards.

“What do you mean?”

She looked at him, quirking an eyebrow.

“Haven’t you heard? Larry was in a car accident. He’s alive, but still in hospital.” Bobby’s brain was reeling, and Sarah took the opportunity provided by his silence to take a sip from her coffee, then lower her tone to a conspiratorial whisper, as though the only two listeners weren’t already completely aware of her sentiment. “That woman really doesn’t have the best luck with men, does she? He proposes to her, then a week later nearly gets himself killed!”

Bobby nearly choked on his drink.

“They’re engaged?”

Sarah smirked at him, and he couldn’t help feeling like he was being laughed at.

“Do you ever hear anything that’s going on, Robert? She’s walking around Manhattan with a ring the size of an apple on her hand, and you don’t know about the engagement?”

A dig at both himself and Joanne in the same sentence. All she needed was one for her husband to complete the hat trick.

***

Bobby called Joanne the moment he got home, but was vaguely grateful when she didn’t pick up - he realised mid-ring that he actually had no idea what to say to her.

After a few minutes, he redialled - this time, she picked up almost immediately. There was a slight lilt to her voice when she spoke - while she wasn’t outright drunk, he would have bet good money that she wasn’t sober, either.

“Joanne, it’s Bobby - I heard about Larry. How are you doing?”

She scoffed slightly, and he heard the clink of a glass. Definitely not sober then.

“Which bit, kiddo? The part about the proposal, or the part where my husband-to-be puts himself in hospital?”

He paused for a moment. Joanne always managed to make him feel wrong-footed in conversation.

“Um - both?”

She scoffed again, but this one was even less amused than the last.

“Then you know the whole sordid tale - I’m fine.”

He supressed an exasperated laugh.

“Of course you are - listen, why don’t I come over? We can catch up; I haven’t spoken to you properly in months.”

“Kiddo, you don’t have to _babysit_ me.” She said the word with such derision, he could have laughed. “I’m not in the mood for entertaining, anyhow.”

“I’m not expecting ‘Joanne the hostess’.” She laughed properly at that (she never had the same interest as other women in her position towards hosting what she called “meaningless opportunities for us to flout our dull yet diamond-encrusted lives”.) “I’ll bring a bottle of wine.”

Aside from muttering darkly about having plenty of her own, she offered no further argument. So, with a parting pleasantry (which was not reciprocated), he hung up.

***

The cloud of perfume wasn’t quite enough to disguise the smell of smoke and scotch - still, Bobby didn’t say anything as Joanne lit up after settling herself on the sofa, a fresh glass resting on the arm. Sarah wasn’t wrong - the ring was enormous.

“Well… congratulations.”

Another scoff - she didn’t look at him.

“So, how is Larry?”

Joanne took a deep drag before answering. Bobby noticed suddenly how exhausted she must be. There were dark circles around her eyes that her concealer wasn’t covering, and she looked _old_ \- he had never thought that before. He couldn’t put his finger on exactly what it was - she just looked so unlike herself, red lipstick faded in the centre, hair starting to curl at the temples. Little imperfections, things she usually managed with the utmost precision.

“He’s fine - lucky. The idiot is lucky.” Her voice was filled with such scorn, Bobby almost recoiled. “He ruptured his spleen, so they had to take that out, and they were worried about concussion, but it seems like he’s going to be alright.”

“That’s good, then? He’ll be home soon?”

Joanne gave a low murmur of assent, but she still didn’t look at him. Her jaw was clenched so tightly, Bobby wouldn’t be surprised if he heard the cracking of her teeth.

“And how are you?”

“I’m _fine_.”

That one word told him all he needed to know - after so many years, he had got pretty good at reading her through all the bravado.

“Bold words for someone about to cry.”

Bobby knew he was pushing his luck. He expected one of two reactions - the dam would break, and she’d cry all the tears she wasn’t allowing herself, or she’d lash out at him. What he didn’t expect was a low, humourless laugh.

“Remind me to spend less time with you, kiddo - I hate being analysed.”

A slight pause, as Joanne took a deep gulp of her drink.

“I’m not about to cry.”

Bobby resisted rolling his eyes skyward, instead taking a sip of his own drink as he decided how to proceed.

“He _is_ going to be alright, you know?” Silence, as she stared into the depths of her glass. “Joanne?”

“ _I know_.”

He reached out a hand to her shoulder - she jumped, and finally looked at him.

“Are you okay?”

She placed one of her hands over his, and smiled slightly. He felt a rush of relief in his chest when she nodded.

“I’m okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> does Joanne care about Larry? we may never know.
> 
>  
> 
> jks I think she definitely does... in her own way.


End file.
